Murder on a Yacht: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery Read online

  “Well I say,” says a bewildered Diane.

  Darrell stops when he’s almost touching the edge of the cabin bed. He’s never met him, but can only assume that this is Mike Davies lying here. From a distance, one might surmise that this man is sound asleep in his bed, save for one particular detail. And that particular detail is that it appears, at first glance, that his head has been gruesomely bashed in.

  With no sign of a snore or a breath, the inspector can only conclude that Mike Davies is not sound asleep, but dead.

  Chapter 3

  Sergeant Sean Golden can hardly believe it. He prefers to stay standing, and paces back and forth on the ferry as he rides over to Lundy Island. In his years stationed at the Barnstaple police office he’s never once been called over to the island for a homicide. He’s had to pursue disorderly conduct from drunks and drug abusers, sure, but never a homicide.

  Even in the entire County of Devon the murder and homicide rate is low – 15 tops a year – and in North Devon where he is based, there is generally next to none.

  And to think, he had been feeling really good about the security of his county. The Devon police force had just organized another successful Firearms Amnesty event. Of course, most of the people who handed in guns were probably not the sort of people that would kill or maim, but turning in their rifles, shotguns and other arms helps prevent any possibility of them falling into the wrong hands.

  The 200 arms turned in across Devon would be scrap metal by now – transformed into unrecognizable, unthreatening pieces.

  Even some handguns were turned in; not just antique revolvers or pistols from avid historians and collectors, but actual, modern-day handguns. (After the atrocious massacre when Thomas Hamilton murdered 16 children at a primary school in Dunblane, Scotland, the British Parliament effectively banned the possession of handguns.)

  That is the beauty of such an amnesty event – no questions asked – so people could hand in banned weapons without fear of repercussion. Sergeant Sean Golden had been honoured to play a part in the initiative of reducing the number of firearms in the County. About 20 guns had been turned into the Barnstaple station – mostly hunting rifles and a BB gun – but this also reassured him that he was living in one of the safest areas of the country… even the world.

  Sergeant Golden doesn’t know if this particular homicide he’s been called to happened from a gunshot or another means. All he was told over the phone – by an Inspector Crothers, was it? – was that a homicide happened and the body was at the marina. Perhaps it had not been done on purpose. Maybe a party got out of hand and items were thrown or people were pushed or who knows what…

  Sergeant Golden begins to shake ever so slightly. Being 195 cm tall and muscular from his neck down to his ankles – he works out on the weights and a bike he set up right behind his desk at the Barnstaple station – many imagine him to be an insensitive bloke. Yet truth be told, the smallest form of violence, against person or property, touches the heart Golden wears on his sleeve.

  The sergeant takes in a deep breath and reminds himself that he’s the Island’s primary law enforcement contact. He’s been called, and he is responding.

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Diane can hardly believe this has happened. She had not actually believed there was anything really profound to worry about. She had asked Darrell to come to the island only as a precaution - she did not truly think Mike’s life was in danger. But now Mike Davies, her lifelong friend, is dead.

  “Diane!” Darrell says, a little louder than he’d like. Sitting next to her, he had said her names several times without her responding. Diane is breathing rather quickly, too quickly, and he needs to calm her down before she turns blue.

  Diane finally looks up at the inspector who is holding her hand and staring at her with concerned eyes.

  “I… I… I think I need to go home, Darrell… can you take me home now?” Diane says.

  Darrell does not say anything for some time. He simply puts his arm around her and lets her cry muffled sobs into his chest. They sit there, on the edge of the pier next to Mike’s yacht, for several minutes.

  Once Diane’s sobs subside, Darrell says, “I can walk you back to the Puffin’s Nest for a rest if you want. I should stay here at least until the sergeant from the mainland arrives.”

  “Oh, you should stay for the entire investigation!” says Diane, suddenly snapping out of her state of despair.

  “Maybe once you’ve had a wee bit of a rest, you can help by doing what you do best – using that brain of yours.”

  “Darrell, we must stay right here – we need to figure out who has killed Mike!” Diane says adamantly, as if it had been Darrell and not her who, just minutes ago, had suggested they leave the island.

  Darrell hadn’t let Diane go down into the cabin to see the body of her friend, but he had told her that Mike had left this world and not by natural causes.

  Diane face becomes resolute, like she’s now ready to play the role of investigator rather than grieving chum. Before she stands up to make her way onto the yacht again, Sergeant Sean Golden approaches.

  “Inspector Darrell Crothers?” he asks quietly.

  “Yes, you must be Sergeant Sean Golden. Thank you for coming so quickly,” Darrell says, shaking the Devon County police officer’s hand.

  The local sergeant is at least a head taller than Darrell and towers over Diane, and yet his height does not give him any edge in the confidence department. Both Darrell and Diane are seasoned when it comes to solving homicides; this would be Sergeant Golden’s second homicide case, and the first that he’s in charge of.

  However, what he’s lacking in ‘major crimes’ experience, he more than makes up for in empathy and gentleness. He places a tender hand on Diane’s shoulder, telling her he’s sorry for her loss.

  “Inspector Crothers told me the victim was a friend of yours,” Golden says.

  Diane nods and gives the sergeant an appreciative smile.

  “Come, Sergeant Golden. I’ll take you down to the scene,” says Darrell. “Diane, will you be okay waiting here?”

  “I’ll head back to the Puffin’s Nest,” says Diane. “Not to sleep but to start working. You can find me there.”

  Golden tentatively follows Darrell onto the yacht and down the stairs into the cabin. Although he has been expecting to see the corpse, the dead body of Mike Davies still catches him off guard. The amount of blood and the part of his now deformed head nearly makes the sergeant physically ill.

  “That’s not a gunshot, is it?” asks Golden timidly.

  “No. It needs to be confirmed by a medical professional, but it appears to be a blow from an extremely heavy object,” says Darrell. “And since an object like that is not close to the body, it’s pretty certain it’s not an accident.”

  “Oh, I see… and the body doesn’t smell, does it? I thought it would smell, surely, being dead and all,” says Golden.

  “No, he hasn’t been dead long enough,” Darrell explains patiently.

  “And would this be murder or manslaughter… and if it’s manslaughter, would it be involuntary or voluntary…. and if it’s involuntary would it be… oh, I’m sorry Inspector Crothers. Of course, we can’t know any of that until we find out who’s responsible… I’m just a wee bit nervous, that’s all.”

  Darrell tells the sergeant to relax and assures him that he was the same way on his first few murder cases. Darrell tells him that, if he does not mind of course, he would like to handle the case. After all, Mrs. Diane Dimbleby is a close friend of his and the murder victim is a close friend of hers, and since he discovered the body, he has the benefit of probably being the first on the scene since the dirty act was committed. Of course, he would run it by both Golden’s superintendent and his own to make sure he has their permission.

  “I’d like to see the case through to the end,” says Darrell, “but only if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s brilliant,” says a relieved Golden; then
, trying not to sound too excited, he says, “No, I don’t mind. I have some other work I should be getting on with anyway.”

  Darrell smiles. Some police officers can be very possessive of their jurisdiction, but it seems like Golden is most agreeable to share. In fact, he’s keen to get out of the immediate vicinity of Mike Davies’ body, and does so at a speed much faster than you would expect from such a towering figure.

  “Oh, Sergeant Golden,” says Darrell, calling after the policeman. “Hold up.”

  Darrell walks up the steps to the deck of the yacht to see Golden already halfway down the pier. “Golden!” he calls again, which has the intended effect this time.

  The sergeant slowly turns around, worried the inspector has changed his mind about taking charge of the case. Heading down, he slowly walks back from whence he came.

  “Golden, before you go, can I just ask a favour?” asks Darrell.

  “Oh certainly, certainly, please excuse me… I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” says the sergeant.

  “Understood,” says Darrell. “Can you tell me where the closest GP might be? I need him or her to come and examine the body.”

  “GP, sir?”

  “General practitioner… a doctor… just until I can get my medical examiner, Dr. Jackson, down here. I’ll call him at once, but it will still take several hours for him to arrive.”

  The sergeant tells Darrell that there’s actually a retired doctor living on Lundy Island, a Dr. Cartwright. Before Golden goes to fetch him, he lends Darrell his satellite phone – a device he brings with him to the island due to the unreliable mobile service – so the inspector can call Dr. Jackson.

  “I knew you had some brain to go along with your brawn,” Darrell says with a wink.

  Over the phone, Dr. Jackson is not quick to agree to make the lengthy trip to Devon County. After the inspector manages to negotiate adequate compensation – they decided that Darrell would bring the medical examiner a packed lunch every day for a month, and not just a simple sandwich mind you, but a packed lunch that could be described as ‘gourmet’ – Dr. Jackson agrees to make the trip to Barnstaple to examine the body of Mike Davies formally.

  After Darrell resists the temptation to call his wife and children to say, “I’m calling you on a satellite phone… that means we’re being connected by satellites orbiting around space,” he sees Sergeant Golden running back towards the marina. An older gentleman, Dr. Cartwright, is hurrying to keep up behind him.

  By the looks of some leftover shaving cream on Dr. Cartwright’s cheeks, one can surmise that Golden did not give the retired physician much time to ponder the request to come and examine the deceased.

  The doctor does not seem to mind. As soon as he introduces himself to Darrell he immediately gets to work. At the top of the yacht’s cabin stairs, he asks Golden to hand him his leather Gladstone bag.

  “Shall I call about a forensics team, Sir?” Golden asks the inspector.

  “Yes, thank you Golden,” Darrell says. “I think you’re much more suited for this line of inquiry than you think.”

  As it may be a long wait before forensics can arrive, Darrell joins the doctor in the cabin and takes numerous pictures, using his phone, while Mike Davies is still in situ.

  The contents of the space reinforce its status as a permanent residence. Photos – some of far-off, tropical places, some of more familiar places, like the Frankfurt Opera House, perhaps – hang on the cabin walls. A stack of books balances next to a lamp on a side table standing next to the bed. A short closet is jam-packed with shirts and trousers hanging from plastic hangers in sporadic order.

  Whoever did this knew that Mike essentially lived on this yacht.

  “So doctor, can you confirm cause of death?” Darrell asks as Dr. Cartwright replaces his instruments inside his bag.

  “Yes, as you suspected, cause of death is most probably a severe blow to the head. This is not my area of expertise, but if I had to wager a reliable guess, I would say he died in the early hours of the morning. I’ll note his body temperature for the medical examiner.”

  “Good, Golden can relay this information to Dr. Jackson when he takes the body to the morgue in Barnstaple,” says Darrell. “Thank you Dr. Cartwright for making yourself available at short notice.”

  Darrell and Dr. Cartwright emerge out of the cabin to see Golden with a slumped posture and looking rather pale… again.

  “Are you quite alright?” Dr. Cartwright asks the sergeant, reaching up to feel his forehead.

  “I heard the inspector say… you’d like me to accompany the body to the morgue, sir?”

  “Why yes, Golden. Now don’t you fret. I meant what I said. You have a knack for investigations… detective work. You just need the experience.”

  Golden’s colour returns and he smiles. “I don’t have a cadaver pouch, but I bet I could track down a non-porous material quickly – a tarpaulin perhaps – to transport the corpse.”

  “A non-porous material you say! Well, who’s the smart one now?” Darrell cheers. “Might be best to ask one of your mates on the island to help you carry the body over to the mainland… and keep it low profile... you don’t want to spook any tourists on the ferry.”

  “Right!” Golden says, determined.

  Golden sets off to locate a non-porous material and someone that has the stomach to help him move a dead body – truth be told, most of the island’s residents could probably endure such a deed. Dr. Cartwright volunteers to stay with Mike Davies until the sergeant returns, so Darrell can go and check on Diane at the Puffin’s Nest.

  After the short climb up the moorland, Mrs. Poole greets the inspector at the bed and breakfast’s front door. It’s been some time since a male as young and dashing as Darrell Crothers has visited the Puffin’s Nest.

  “Come through, come through,” says Mrs. Poole, a little too keenly. “You must be lost. Come sit and have a cup of tea while we figure out where you’re trying to go.”

  Darrell chuckles. “If this is the Puffin’s Nest, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

  “Oh my,” blushes the bed and breakfast’s proprietor.

  “I’m here to see one of your guests… Mrs. Diane Dimbleby.”

  Mrs. Poole, slightly disappointed, but remaining as pleasant as always, brings Darrell to Diane’s room. She takes the liberty of knocking for the inspector.

  “Yes?” Diane says, sounding distracted.

  “You have a visitor… a young man… who says he knows you.”

  “Oh yes, indeed… you can come in Darrell!”

  When Darrell opens the door, he sees Diane sitting at her desk intently bent over her laptop. She has been hard at work meticulously reading Mike Davies’ manuscript, and not for the first time. In addition to the staff at the publishing house, Diane has also read Mike’s novel before. A while back he sent her a digital copy which has been saved on her computer since. She is in the middle of reading one of the more ‘hair-raising’ passages – one dealing with an intricate strategy used by the MI6 some time ago to extract a fellow agent from an unfriendly territory – when Darrell arrives.

  “Do you know much about the Berlin Wall, Darrell?” Diane asks, looking up from her laptop.

  “Of course I know there was a wall that divided Germany, but I can’t say I know much… why?”

  “Well, you would have just been a child or barely a teenager when the Wall came down,” says Diane.

  Darrell takes a seat, sensing the retired teacher is about to give him a history lesson. He’s happy to take a rest for a few minutes. Plus Diane does not normally prattle on, so when she has a lot to say, she normally has an important point to make.

  Diane asks Darrell to imagine waking up to find out that a barrier had been created right in the middle of his city – a barrier that nobody is allowed to cross. That means if his friends or relatives or job or favourite place to visit are on the other side, he is not permitted to go to or visit them.

  This happened in Berlin, Di
ane continues. On August 12, 1961, at midnight, East German soldiers and police were commanded to close the border, which crossed through Berlin and divided East and West Germany. Literally neighbours, families and friends were separated. Students could not reach their university to continue their studies. East Germans who had loved ones in a hospital in West Berlin could not go and visit them.

  At first the wall was made of barbed wire and blocks, and then it became more fortified and made of cement. Some people successfully snuck over the wall, but others were captured or killed. Diane tells Darrell that one of Mike’s colleagues, another British agent, had been trapped in East Berlin, but he did not try to escape while the wall stood.

  In 1989, protestors convened next to the Wall which urged the East German government to reopen the border between the East and the West. The gates along the wall were opened. This was the beginning of the fall of the Berlin Wall.

  “It was a major celebration – you might remember seeing some of the news coverage on the tele,” says Diane. “But something went dreadfully wrong with Mike’s colleague.”

  “So Mike was an MI6 agent?” asks an astonished Darrell

  “Yes, and some of his actual experiences with the MI6 are featured in his latest manuscript,” Diane explains. “Even though it’s a work of fiction, I fear that what he’s revealed may have provoked someone to shut him up.”

  Diane gives the inspector a thumb drive that has a copy of the manuscript on it. She tells Darrell that he should read it as its contents may be essential for solving her friend’s murder. That is, if the story is in fact the killer’s motive.

  Diane also tells Darrell that other than herself, the only people that she knows of who have seen the manuscript are the staff at the publishing house. But with all the latest talk of hacking and spying, one could never be sure how many eyes are lurking about.

  “How did you read the manuscript so quickly, Diane? You haven’t even been in your room here for an hour. And did you take this thumb drive from the cabin this morning? You know that you shouldn’t be taking anything from a crime scene…”